Jim and I have been watching a series on Netflix called Black Mirror.  It’s an anthology series set in the very near future where technology is not your friend and you can’t swing a cat without hitting a dystopia.

Now, I love me a good dystopia – Brave New World, 1984, Fahrenheit 451, Logan’s Run – but I wouldn’t want to live in one.

Make Oceania Great Again?

Anyway, the series is dark.  Like, really really dark. So well written, well acted, great production.  And really really dark. Like “Holy shit, they went there!”

I’m eating this up and really enjoying the show, but the last episode we watched – and it might really be the last episode since it’s Jim’s Netflix account – was the darkest yet.

I could see where it was going and was thinking it was one of the most probable of the near futures. And I was enjoying the thought provoking nature of the show.

Jim, however, was not enjoying it.  I could tell he wanted to stop watching at one point, but also wanted to see how it played out.

And when the ending was even darker than he expected, well, he was troubled.  As the ending credits rolled, he turned off the TV and said he didn’t want to watch the show anymore. We talked about it for a few minutes and he tried to re-write the ending to make it a little less terrible.

Instead of calling it a night, he sat up with the puppies and looked at Facebook and Youtube for a while.  And when he did go to sleep, he said he didn’t sleep well and had nightmares.

As for me?  I thought about it for about 2 minutes and determined how I would react if put in the situation of the characters, and then dismissed it.  Totally unphased – and I didn’t lose a wink of sleep over it.

Kind-hearted Jim doesn’t want to watch anymore.  And I’m hoping the next episode is even darker – figuring that “people are terrible” and “technology makes people worse”.  Bring it!

And I’m maybe a little worried at how little this bothered me.  Does my immunity and enjoyment of this kind of dark fiction mean that…ummm… maybe things aren’t quite so rosy in my cranium?  

I mean, we’ve already figured that I’ve got the “fun” parts of a Schizotypal Personality Disorder – the unconventional thinking, unusual attire, peculiar speech patterns…while still being grounded in the real world and being able to interact socially with other people.  Mostly.

Could it be worse than that, though?  Could those voices in my head – the ones with really great/terrible ideas – be a sign of something…ummm… sinister?

Ummmm… no.

I mean, I’d totally be a super-villain if give powers or a budget, but I’m really more on the whimsical end of whatever spectrum I’m on.

The immunity to Stephen King, Clive Barker, American Horror Story, and Britney Spears is more about having built up a tolerance over the years for things that show the dark heart of the human soul.  I mean, have you listened to her lyrics?

When I was a kid – maybe 7 or 8 – I got ahold of a copy of the Amityville Horror.  And read it, cover to cover. When I was done, I announced that I was never going to sleep again.  Ever.

Seemed like the best solution.

My dad sat me down and had a talk about what was real and what wasn’t real.

“But it was based on actual events!” I countered, but he eventually settled me down and – worn out from a long day of scaring the shit out of myself – I did go to sleep.

When I started in on Stephen King in earnest a few years later, it troubled me a bit.  But, I was pretty well grounded by that point and shrugged it off. Even to the point where I would read “It” about 20 pages ahead of my mom and tell her what pages to skip.  The late 700’s were a rough…

Once you’ve faced down/ been raised on a self-imposed diet of evil clowns and vengeful ghost/demon/zombie things, it’s tough to let a little thing like a less-than-optimistic future society get to you.

—————–

 

I wrote the above before Jim got up the gumption to watch another episode and this one was as sweet and joyful as the last one had been dark.  It even had, dare I say it, a happy ending?

Ugh.

So, looks like we’re in it for the rest of series.  

And I’ll have to break out some Lovecraft if it stays sunny.

Prelude

I started the recent long holiday weekend with some serious thought to how I’d spend my time.  Jim had homework and mulch planned for much of it, so I needed something to do. A couple of my friends were going to have their grand opening of a winery in West Virginia and while I’d like to support them I don’t drink and that’s a long drive.

It also occurred to me that it has been a while since I’d been back to visit the cemetery where Jeff’s ashes were scattered – also in West Virginia.  

By themselves, neither is perhaps really a good use of time, but together it seemed like a good day trip.  

On Friday, I checked in with Jeff’s sister to see if she would be around for a visit.  She wasn’t going to be – instead she was at a party for her nephew (just graduating high school) and niece (graduating college early).  She sent me photos and I was gobsmacked. It had been 6 years since I’d seen them and the passage of time had turned them both into adults.

So, I did a little checking on my own and found the address for the cemetery – and the winery – and planned to head out Saturday morning.

—————-

Part 1 – The grave

I started my trip with a stop at the ATM – just in case – and on my way to the gas station my tire pressure warning light came on.   I got that resolved, but it wasn’t an auspicious way to start the trip. I was soon on the road and headed to Wheeling, WV.

The trip took a couple hours and traffic wasn’t bad. I found the cemetery without trouble and parked my car near where I thought the grave was located.

And that was the problem.  I’d been there once with Jeff to visit his mom’s grave and again when his dad passed.  And once with Jeff’s sister three years ago – but at no point did I really know where the graves were located.

And it’s a big cemetery.  I wandered around for a bit, but started to overheat.  So, I headed up to the office to see if they had a map.  But when I got there, the door was locked.

I stood there for a minute, trying to figure out what to do next.  I had gone all that way and…

I decided that I would just find a shady spot, sit, and think for a bit.  And that would have to be enough – though it was disappointing.

As I was heading back to my car, a guy in a golf cart pulled up to the office and said he was opened up.  We went into the cool air and he asked for the name. I gave them Jeff’s parents’ names since he had a headstone there, but his ashes had been scattered. I didn’t know how that worked, but the guy found them in the computer and asked me if Jeff was there too.  I said he was and he remarked that he used to know Jeff.  Jeff had been a funeral director in Wheeling for a time so it wasn’t that odd, but… still…

With an “address” of sorts and a map, I was on my way.  It turned out that my instincts had been correct and I’d been close, but any navigational triumph was short lived.

I found his grave.  And I broke down.

I tend to compartmentalize things and figured this part of the trip would consist of carefully opening the mental box and gently sorting through the memories – then closing it back up and putting it neatly away.

Instead, it was as though someone pulled a pin on a mental grenade and tossed it into my head. Cardboard, tape, and carefully lettered labels went flying in my head.

Everything washed over me as though no time had passed at all and I just stood there and sobbed uncontrollably.

I just let it happen and eventually I settled myself down.  I knelt in the grass by the grave and apologized. Again. I couldn’t have saved him, but perhaps I could have made his last days less terrible – at the cost of my own happiness. Seems a small price to pay, in hindsight.

I took a few deep breaths and then pulled a few weeds.  Seemed the thing to do. Then I stood, said goodbye, and headed back to my car.

I know, right down to the absolute core of my being, that he wasn’t there.  That it was just a place and just a stone and literally anywhere else would have rationally been just the same.

But, you know… It did matter.

So, I occupied myself with finding a place to eat lunch and then eating before I got on the road again.

And on the long road, I thought about the mess in my head and started to put things back into their boxes.

———————-

Part 2 – The winery

It was two and a half hours to Point Pleasant – the site of my friends’ new winery.  At one point I debated on skipping that part of the trip and just heading home – too much Aimee Mann, I suspect – but I do like surprising people and it would be a good thing to do.

The GPS guided me unerringly and I arrived safe, though tired. As I pulled into the parking lot, I saw my friend wrangling a barrel outside to clean it.  I got out and walked over to him and it took him a minute to recognize me – I think I was just so far out of context it threw him – then he grinned and gave me a big hug.  I told him I was “sort of” in the neighborhood – Wheeling – and decided to check out the operation. He laughed and his partner met us at the door – and his partner was just as surprised to see me.

I got the tour of the wine making area, met the rest of the crew, and bought a bottle of wine for Jim.  We talked for a bit and I decided to head out when they got busy again.

I think they were both glad to see me and I was happy I could help support their new adventure in a small way.

Back in the car and three hours home.  I listened to some more upbeat music and got home safe and sound.  

It was an odd way to spend a Saturday, but mostly a good one.  I think I needed that trip and it was the right thing to do.

I sit here tonight with a now cold cup of tea and a head that’s still not sorted out. 

But that’s okay.

And I’m okay.

Last Saturday was the Maker Faire and I was up bright and early to head to Wayne County for the event.  I had packed up the night before, so all I needed to do was say goodbye to the cat and fire up the GPS.

I got there and got set up and even before the official start time, I had kids lined up at my table. I had done some samples and that made it a little easier for the kids to choose what they wanted to do – and it limited the crazier requests.

I got a break at 11:30 to give a short presentation.  I was a little nervous, but started my talk by showing the audience a piece of paper and then putting my hands behind my back.  While I spoke, I quickly folded a crane. And just as I wrapped up my talk I brought my hands back around to show them the completed crane.  When I made the wings flap, I got a round of applause.

The rest of the time was some intense paper folding – about 5 hours worth.

At one point, I had three kids at my table that all wanted to make different things with different starting points.  I closed my eyes for a moment and ran through all the steps of each model before opening them and getting each kid started.

For fun, each cube we did got a tiny crane dropped in before we closed up the box.  And the somewhat insistent little girl from last year was back for another mette ring.

One of the best moments was a kid that had been stuck at a table all day. He was showing some lego projects and some model planes – and while it was interesting it wasn’t a crowd magnet.  So, he spent the day a little bored.

As we were getting ready to pack up, I dug out an x-wing fighter I’d made from paper that looked like legos – the best one I’ve done like that – and took it over to his table and gave it to him.  No one had seen this at my table – everyone would have wanted one and they are terribly complicated to make – so it was a complete surprise. His eyes lit up and I got a huge smile and a thank you.

I got all my gear packed up and loaded into my car -then drove back to Akron.  Once home, I forced myself to unload my car before I collapsed.

My back hurt and my hands were aching, but it was a good day and I made a lot of people happy.  And if there are some “future folders” that got their start there, well, that’s pretty cool too.

I recently got a letter from my bank indicating that because I hadn’t done anything with it in too long, my savings account was now inactive.

Should I have taken it out for dinner?  Maybe bought flowers? Rotated the tires?

No, in fact, I was just supposed to have deposited more money in it.   

Now, I treat my savings account as a safeguard for “when things go horribly wrong”.  When I hit a certain threshold in my checking account, I’ll transfer some over to the savings.   Keeps the day-to-day disasters at bay – and makes that nest egg a little better over time.

But that’s not how I’m supposed to be doing it, apparently.  

My savings account needs constant attention and contact – and I got a cat because i want to do the exact opposite and the cat is fine with that.

We’re like, “I like you a lot, but if we could limit our interactions a bit, that would be great and no one will get hurt,”

But my savings account needs more from me and if I don’t give it more, it goes inactive.

Though, that really didn’t seem to do anything.  I went ahead and transferred some money over and there were no warnings or indicators in the online system.  It wouldn’t have closed since there was money in there and I’m using the rest of the accounts pretty normally.  So, ummm… maybe it just missed me?

I try not to get angry at people since it’s usually a system or process that’s really at fault – though if people don’t stop putting cheese on my hamburgers I may have to raise my voice – but I think this needs a little additional investigation and a policy change request.   

My savings is something I’d kinda like to ignore until I need it.  Much like how my cat ignores me until he thinks he needs the litter box cleaned.  Or a belly-rub for a precise but unknown amount of time.

At least I know now the interval for the savings account.

The cat is… variable.  And more likely to draw blood.

With the increased yard work, I’ve also been making more trips to Lowe’s.  And since the former owners of my house loved vines, I needed to buy some yard waste bags for the dreaded spring clean-up.

I headed to my local Lowe’s and tracked down the bags.  They were in packs of 5 each and only a couple bucks per package, so I hemmed and hawed a little about how many I thought I would need.  3? 4?

I picked up a few packs and headed to the front of the store – along with a couple more items. At the busy check-out, I set the bags down on the counter and told the clerk I had 3 packages.  He scanned the top one, rang me up, I paid, and was on my way.

When I got home, I took the bags to the backyard to open up the first package and start the clean up of sticks and twigs and vines.

Except, there were 4 packages of bags.

My hemming and hawing had confused me on how many I’d gotten – and I’d ended up shoplifting.

45 years old and now a felon.

Took me longer than I figured, actually.  What with the streaking and liberal definition of “valid recyclables”.

A couple days later I needed to go back to Lowe’s and made my first stop at the return desk.   I explained to the clerk there that I’d inadvertently picked up four packages and only got charged for 3.  

She was a little surprised, but thanked me – and I went on into the store to get more supplies.

Given that it was only a couple bucks I’m guessing a lot of folks would have just kept that extra pack – but it would have worked on me like a tell-tale heart. 

“The bags! The bags!  The crinkling of the bags!”

Ehem.

I guess I’m off the hook now, but if they come for me, I’m running and they’ll never take me alive.

————————

Lunchtime at work last week and the thought of nuking some frozen meal made me just… sad.  So, I hopped in the car and headed out to the local fast food restaurant.

The same one that had the “feather-nugget”.

Now, I wasn’t going to get nuggets this time.  Or for the foreseeable future.

But, I could go for a burger and I ordered my usual.

“#1 combo, medium, lettuce only, no cheese.”  

The person making the burger recognized me and set to work – I always get the same thing and always order it the same way.

In a few minutes, I had a bag of food and I was on my way.

I got to the office, sat down, and opened the bag and the sandwich.

Instead of the expected:  bun | burger | lettuce | bun

 

I got: bun | cheese | burger | lettuce | cheese | bun

Really?  Double cheese?  Double freaking cheese?

That’s it.  I can no longer stand this effrontery.  They are dead to me. DEAD. TO. ME.

So, lunch was fries and a diet coke.  

And a sullen silence.

I had a dream where I found myself several generations in the future.  I met an extended family – the Millers – and visited them at their huge house where they all lived together.  Parents, siblings, cousins, grandparents – but not many children.

They seemed normal enough, but every so often I would notice a distortion on their faces and extremities.  Like an illusion breaking down for a moment.

They tell me about a “radiation event” that caused mutations and I realize that they are all able to generate an illusion to present a normal appearance and hide their deformities.  And they keep the children hidden until they are old enough to hide themselves.

They tell me that the radiation – if it’s still around – might mutate me in the same way.  I explain that it’s more likely to just kill me and that their mutations are caused by their parents’ reproductive cells being damaged.  And that the illusion ability must now be a dominant gene since a normal appearance would make it more likely for someone to reproduce.

They are impressed at my reasoning.

One of the women decides to show me what she really looks like  – but decides to put on her wedding gown first. I’m guessing she thought the veil would be dramatic.

Just as she’s about to lift the veil without the illusion, a child wanders in from the neighborhood.  He’s from the Weir family and the Millers don’t want anything to do with him. They shun that entire family.

I’m a little worried about the kid – he seems “off” – and since none of the Millers will help, I offer to try and help him get home.

I take the kid to a neighbor’s house and they offer to help him from there, but based on his behavior and the comments of the neighbors I realize that the Weir family is being shunned because they are cannibals.  And the cannibalism has led to a prion-based disease – like Mad Cow – and that explains the odd behavior.

With the kid on his way home, I head back to the Miller’s house to find they’ve all decided to reveal their true faces to me.

So, all at once, I’m surrounded by monsters.  And I take it pretty much in stride.

Since everyone is dealing with and passing down damaged genes, any child I have would be less mutated (since my genes are clean), but would likely still be able to cast illusions.

I realize that an influx of my DNA might be make me the savior of mankind and I’m considering my destiny as I wake up.

With finally some nice weather, I decided that it was time to do a little yard work.   Now, I generally hate working in the yard. It all seems so contrived and unnatural – and some weeds are really pretty.

But, I live in a neighborhood and there’s an expectation of putting in at least a little work.  In the past, I’ve put in maybe a half-assed job at it. I keep the grass mowed and will occasionally trim – but that’s about it until I rake leaves in the fall.  

This year, though, I’ve decided to strive for at least ¾ assed – or maybe even full-assed if I can get around to it.

And I’m treating yard-work less like yard-work and more like therapy.  After a stressful day at work, a little sunshine and wandering around my yard doing things seems like a fine way to chill out.

I have started out strong in the past with a bout of intense activity – and then I get bored and stop. This time, I’m taking it a little slower and have plans to do a little each day – with a little thought on what small project I’ll tackle the next day to keep the momentum going.

We’ll see how it goes – I’m hoping the neighbors appreciate it.

—————

This evening, though, I got a later start on the yard-work since I had an event to go to.  I’m friends with an elected official ™ and she was having a fund-raiser. It was at a local bar/restaurant and there was going to be food.  So, of course…

I got there just as it started, got some grub (not actual grubs – mostly veggies) and sat down to chat and relax a bit.  I heard rumors of pizza on the horizon, so I didn’t want to get too full on veggies.  And yes, I know how that sounds.

But, when the pizza came out and I opened the box – it was veggie.

Whatever poker face I have – and mine isn’t really great anyway – fell away with the betrayal.

Now, I like most veggies – but pizza?  Really?  That’s a thing?

I went ahead and took a couple slices and it was actually okay.  Carrots, broccoli, and cauliflower – and regular sauce and cheese.  No peppers or onions.

I ate it – but I was disappointed a little.

And then a second pizza came out! And it had pepperoni!  Yea!

I only had one piece – I was already kinda full – and it was excellent.

I met a few new people and shared some origami as we talked and ate.  And then it was time to go home and spread some mulch and dirt and do a little trimming.  A little bit every day – that’s the plan.

So, now, update the blog, take out the trash, and play a video game and read a book until it’s time for bed.  It was kind of a crappy day at work, but the evening made up for it.

I came home the other day to see that my yard had been “flagged”.  As in, there were red and yellow flags marking gas and I think water lines. There was spray paint too and clearly some project was in the planning.

Just not one that I had any idea about.  

I meant to ask my neighbor – we share a driveway – but didn’t get around to it.  A couple days after the yard and driveway got marked, I came home to a new patch of asphalt – on top of the concrete of the driveway – and into the grass.  And what I’m guessing was a new water line shut off. Maybe – it wasn’t clearly marked.

I went on inside and figured I’d call the city at some point to determine what had happened. Not upset, just a little puzzled.

While I was using the bathroom, the cat wandered in. As he does.

I zipped up, flushed,  and started to walk away when suddenly the toilet made an unexpected noise.

KA-WOOOMPSHHHH!

The cat jump straight up in the air and I stumbled back as I swore.

It settled down and I looked at the cat – who had wisely teleported out of the room.  We were both a little freaked.

I went to wash my hands and the faucet sputtered a bit before it too settled down.

Ah.  The work done had necessitated turning off the water to my house and there was air in the line.  And that was it.

I conferred with my neighbor after that and he agreed – though we were both a little disappointed in the quality of the work done on the driveway.  I’m hoping that the street repair fares better.

———–

Yesterday, I confirmed that the chicken nuggets at my favorite fast food restaurant are made with real chicken.

If your first thought is “uh-oh,” you are on the right track.

I went there at lunch and got a burger, fries, and nuggets. I drove back to the office and ate my burger and fries – saving the nuggets for last since they are the best.

I was on nugget 3 of 4 when I noticed… something.  I had already dipped the nugget in BBQ sauce when I saw something sticking out of the other end.  I took a closer look and tugged on it – causing it to unfurl.

It was a feather!

Now, I know that chicken nuggets don’t grow on nugget trees and that the most stringent controls still aren’t 100% – but it was still damn weird.

I showed my student assistants – one of whom took a picture – and then drove back to the restaurant.  I waited in line with the “feather nugget” in a box until the clerk saw and recognised me. She waved me over and I quietly asked to see the manager.  She got the manager on duty and I then quietly explained what I found. I suggested that they might want to contact their supplier and there was perhaps a bad batch of nuggets.

She thanked me, mortified, and I was on my way.

I don’t blame the restaurant or the cooks – it’s not like are out back killing chickens.  And I didn’t want to make a fuss or get something out of it.

I’ll go back one of these days, though as much as I downplayed it I was still a little weirded out and I won’t be getting the nuggets for a while.  Could have been worse, I supposed.

It might have been a little foot or a beak.  

 

We had a nice day recently and I decided that my car needed washed.  I could have done it myself – I have a driveway, soap, and a hose – but I also had a coupon for a free car wash.

And it was on my “list of things to do that aren’t super important but that I should eventually get around to doing”

So, after work, I headed to the car wash and realized that this was the first time I’d gone to a car wash where I was the driver.  And solo, no less.

Yes, I lead a sheltered life.

I got my coupon scanned, pulled forward to the correct stop, and put my car in neutral.  And let the machines take over.

It was loud, the suds made it impossible to see, and I was worried something was going to happen to my car.  And of course it was fine, but I was still unnerved by the experience. I skipped the complementary vacuum cleaners and just headed home.

Just… didn’t care for it.

—————

Also on my list of things to (don’t make me retype that), was a trip to the eye doctor.  It’s been a few years since I’ve gone and my glasses are in terrible shape – so, I hit their website and pushed the button for Schedule an Appointment.

I put in my name, phone number and the day, then clicked the next button.  Instead of taking me to a page to select a time, I got a note that said they would call me to finish the appointment.

So, instead of at my convenience, it was now at theirs. Nice.

The office called me a little later and got my info.  They also required my insurance information – which threw me off and I didn’t have.  I dug through my wallet and couldn’t find the card – and without it, they wouldn’t make the appointment.  So, I said I would look it up and call them back.

I went to UA’s HR website and found the provider – then learned/remembered that they don’t issue cards.  I could go to the provider website and get my membership number.

So, I tried to do that.  I tried to create a new account, but apparently already had one.  I tried to reset my password, but didn’t have an email address on file so they couldn’t reset my password.

I had to call them and they told me that my member number was the last four digits of my social security number.  I hung up with them, called the eye doctor back – and the day I wanted was suddenly all booked up.

I picked a different day, gave them my provider info – they didn’t need my number – and then gave them my name twice and what I needed (eye appointment, glasses) twice.

On the day of the appointment I got a text telling me to be there 10 minutes early.  Nice.

When I got there I had to fill up that HIPPA form again and go through all my info and tell them my provider.  Does no one write things down?

I saw the tech pretty quickly and got the preliminary testing done.  Then I waited. And waited. And Waited.

Fortunately, I had plenty of paper.  Finally, the door opened and… an intern came in.  She was maybe 14 years old, I think.

She checked my eyes and did the “better one or two, better two or three”.  Then she used a prism to shine the sun directly into my eyes for a while – which was impressive considering it was raining outside.

She left and I waited some more.  And more. And still more.

It was a full hour from my appointment time and I was down to my last few sheets of paper when the doctor finally came in and did the same tests the intern did.  She said I might be headed towards glaucoma or bifocals – and suggested two pairs of glasses that I would have to swap back and forth when using a computer.

Sigh.

The exam done, I was directed to pick out some new frames and even with my really great insurance it was still stupid expensive out of pocket.

And then it was back out into the rain with a headache and partially dilated eyes.   I went home and took a nap. In 7-10 days, I’ll have new glasses and I’m hoping I look amazing and can see through lead for all the trouble it was.

—————————

In both cases, I felt like I should have had more control.  Driving my car, using a computer, using…well… my eyes. I’m okay when giving up control is my choice and when that happens I’m pretty chill.  When it’s taken away – and it’s stupid (so stupid) – I don’t do so well.

Maybe I need some more art therapy?

I’ve had a note on my “things to do that I should get around to but aren’t critical” board to secure my website.  This involves getting a security certificate so that traffic is encrypted – not that this a big deal for me, but Google is pretty fired up about it.

So, I finally decided to get this set up last night.

I brewed a strong cup of tea, then logged into my hosting company’s portal.  I noted my plan – Shared/Hatchling (it’s a small site) – and then clicked on the link for SSL Certificate.

And promptly got a message, “The Hosting panel is only for Shared accounts,”

(and the white zone it for the immediate loading and unloading of passengers. there’s no stopping in the red zone.)

Hmmm…

I wandered through the site a bit and kept getting tossed back to the same screen.  So, I fired up a chat window and asked what’s up.

Turns out, the Hosting panel – and access to set up an SSL cert – is only for Shared/Baby accounts – or higher.

Sigh.

So, I needed to upgrade my hosting plan and that was going to cost me a pro-rated $40.  I went over to the account settings, clicked the Upgrade button, and used the credit card on file to pay the $40.  With some grumbling.

With that done, I went back to the panel and got started on the SSL.  There was a lot of jargon and fine print – and when I got through that, there was a fee.  So, I fired up the saved credit card again.

And got denied.

Hmmm… so, I’ve either hit a daily limit – which I doubted, it wasn’t that much – or Something Has Gone Wrong.

I got out the physical card and called the number on the back.   After I verified my identity, they checked and found that my upgrade payment had tripped up the Fraud Detectors.  

Even though I’ve used that same card every year to pay for my site renewals, it still looked suspicious.   (Turns out the fraud department had called me, but my phone was on vibrate and I didn’t know I had a voice mail.)

They got things cleared for me and I went back to the hosting company site to finish up the SSL Cert.

And… it works!

https://thunderofwade.com/

Note the httpS – that’s the big deal.

I’m not entirely done yet – I still have to figure out how to route the traffic over to that side automatically – but I’m close.

And then I can cross that off the list.

Kind of ironic that me setting up the security on my website tripped up the security settings on my credit card.